


The Dog Ate My Microdots

by Liadt



Category: Callan (TV), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cake, Cake Fic Meme, Crack, Crossover, Gen, cakefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is there a man naked, except for a cape, covered in cake chained to somebody else in Hunter's office?</p><p>It all makes perfect sense to Hunter. Callan is not convinced</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dog Ate My Microdots

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the lovely lost_spook for beta-ing.

Callan walked into Hunter’s office, carrying a tray, loaded with tea things. What was so important that Liz, Hunter’s secretary, wasn’t allowed to serve tea? After he placed the tray on the desk and looked for a seat, he saw why the normally cool and collected Liz was pink and flushed, this morning. To the side of him, perched on a chair was a skinny man, with dark hair and eyes. He was naked except for a cape and a generous covering of cake. He waved a free cakey hand at Callan. Callan looked on in surprise, as crumbs flew across the office. The dark haired man was chained to an unconscious older man with a cloud of white hair. The elder, though thankfully clothed, was conspicuously dressed in a green velvet jacket and a frilly shirt.

“Hi, yes, I know, long story. Don’t mind me. I can’t resist the opportunity to spend time in offices, with files marked ‘Top Secret.” The nearly naked man noticed Callan’s gaze drifting to the other stranger, lying unconscious on the floor. “Don’t worry about my other self. I accidentally-on-purpose knocked him out. He’s a terrible name dropper. I hate name droppers, don’t you? Very boring. It’s not the place to mention Mao here, is it? Can I have some of that tea, please?”

As Callan passed the stranger a full cup and saucer, complete with biscuit, he asked Hunter, “For God's sake, what's going on?” 

“Ah, Callan, you have arrived at last. He’s your new partner. You can dispense with Lonely’s services now,” said Hunter.

“I’ve told you, Lonely’s nothing to do with the section. You can’t replace him. He works for me.” Had Hunter gone completely barmy? Had Hunter’s tea been spiked or had _his_ tea been spiked? Callan sniffed his drink gingerly.

Hunter leaned back in his chair. “You have to see things from my point of view. When I’m at the club, with all the heads of secret Government departments, so secret they don’t even have a proper name, I have to hear about the civilians their agents work with. When they are showing off photos, of their agents dollies, they ask me when I’m going to bring some pictures in. I’m running out of excuses. I’m reduced to saying: the dog ate my microdots. Does that fool you? No.” Hunter leaned forward again, to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. “Why don’t you have a beautiful, fashionable, female, karate expert, like the others? It’s embarrassing. For me, personally and the section. Lonely couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag. Neither is he ornamental.”

“I could teach Lonely the fist of death. He carried Liz down five flights of stairs, all by himself. I didn’t know he had it in him.”

Hunter was less than impressed. “Too little, too late. It’s not good enough!”

Callan looked sheepish. “I have tried, sir, but as soon as I get a girl back to the flat she scarpers. It’s the stained wallpaper that does it. Couldn’t you find me a more upmarket pad?” 

“I spent the section’s housing allowance, on Lonely’s bail, as you demanded. Maybe you would attract the right kind of sidekick if you dressed differently. The unconscious fellow could help you out. He’s stylish and elegant with a touch of flamboyance. Something which is severely lacking in this Department.”

“I’ve two new scarves and a cardi.”

“I was aiming for something more eye catching. A crushed velvet fedora and a sword stick, perhaps?”

Callan thought it over. “There’s the tie Lonely bought me, but it’s too disgusting for the 1970’s.”

“Why did he get you a disgusting tie? I thought he did what you told him to.”

“It was a gift. I didn’t ask him to buy it for me.”

Hunter’s eyebrows rose above the top of his glasses and didn’t come down again. Taking the glasses off and putting them on the table, he said, “If you are putting off teaming up with a high kicking member of the opposite sex, because you think you are obliged to have more than a working relationship, I assure you, it’s normal, to keep things strictly platonic.”

Callan coloured. Hunter had got hold of the wrong end of the stick. He would have set Hunter straight, but it would sound as if he doth protest too much. If Hunter had been in the ‘Scrubs he would have understood. It wasn’t his fault all his girlfriends were shot, before the second ad break, he thought glumly. At least Cross wasn’t here. He didn’t think he could take all the ‘feeling lonely’ jokes afterwards. Besides, throttling your fellow agent was frowned on.

Callan cleared his throat. “If you’re so bothered about pairing me with a woman, why do you want me to work with an almost naked man, covered in cake?”

“As you can’t or won’t find a glamorous, femme fatale, you can have someone who smells nice.”

“Nice?”

“You have to admit, black forest gateaux smells better than whatever Lonely smells of.”

Callan couldn’t disagree. He had a point. “I still can’t dump Lonely. He’ll get in to trouble without me. It would be irresponsible. He’s dependant on me.”

Hunter shook his head. “Callan, if you insist in letting your conscience get in the way, doesn’t a man naked, except for a cape, covered in cake, chained to somebody else, need more help?”

“Can’t his friend aid him, when he comes to?”

“I’m exchanging him for Cross. Being chained to someone more mature, would curb his youthful vigour and prevent him pushing innocents in front of trains and so forth. I hope so, for the sake of reducing my paperwork, for cover-ups.”

“It’s ridiculous! I can’t take him with me on a job. Imagine if I was caught with him, chained and covered in cake, in someone’s room?”

“Ah, I forgot you didn’t go to public school. The section will send you where nobody will notice.”

“You’re barmy, sir!“ protested Callan. 

Hunter took a sip from his flowery cup. “From a grown man who plays with toy…”

“There’s nothing wrong, with playing with toys, whatever your age,” interrupted the semi-naked man. He had been keeping quiet, as he had become engrossed in listening to the exchange.

“Thanks, but they’re models, not toys.”

Hunter continued, “As I was saying, you’re a forty year old who plays at soldiers and has an unaccountable attachment to a smelly tramp. I think you are the one in need of psychiatric help. Did you lose your teddy as a child? I can get you an appointment with Snell.”

“I’m not sure this is the kind of atmosphere I want to work in,” said the Doctor, trying to balance his saucer on his knee, so he could dunk his gingernut.

Callan gritted his teeth. “Lonely’s a hygienically challenged thief, sir. And what use would the new man be, leaving cake crumbs everywhere, when I’m trying to do a secret search? Tell me the truth. You’ve put me in a red file without telling me haven’t you?” Callan slammed his fist down, hard, on the desk. “I’ll save you the trouble and resign.”

“You can’t resign or I _will_ change your file to a red one,” said Hunter calmly.

“I knew there was something funny going on here. You can stuff your red file. I got Lonely to nick them all - last night.” Callan spun on his heel and triumphantly walked out.

The Doctor cleared his throat. “If you unchain me, I’ve got the numbers of dozens of feisty young women. Are you aware of UNIT?”

“Yes, yes, but I much prefer cake,” said Hunter, using a teaspoon to scrape cake off the Doctor and on to his saucer. “Nothing else goes quite so well with a cup of tea.”


End file.
